transjunctive excision

Choppy turbulent coffee, tobacco, and alcohol scented froths of dulled perception line the weal. Turbid people-twainings and perspective separations lay before thee. There are those so well-off that the clubs and establishments which they frequent serve water distilled from children who have just seen their parents die most horribly. At places like this, glass clothes are in vogue these days: suits and trousers made entirely of glass: some even rigid, with the wearer in some kind of fluorescent undershirt beneath. These people, if you want to call them that, are so rich that they don't need to worry about sense. I'm told that if I dress nicer I'll get the girls, or something like that. Why would I want to do that? Why would I want someone so concerned with presentation that they are completely transparent to substance? Just because you can afford diamonds mined by starving Sudanese children, does that mean you ought to? Just because you can afford fabric painstakingly sewn by a Belgian two year old, does that mean you should wear it? In twenty years the fabric will be moth eaten or covered in smelly organic solvents keeping the moths away: it'll smell old and your best attempts to keep it new and fresh will shorten its life. Even diamonds are metastable in air -- they turn into graphite extraordinarily slowly.